


Mostly Harmless

by Kit_SummerIsle



Series: Primes and Protectors [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: But not nice either, Illness, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Unequal relationship, not quite a douchebag, power trips, sentinel being sentinel, still he might not deserve this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: Sentinel Prime hates organics. Even when they are harmless and innocent.





	Mostly Harmless

**Author's Note:**

> It's the direct continuation of the Luck of the Draw fic.

Sentinel Prime was a lot less stellar diplomat than most Primes. It had to do with his utter lack of empathy, Megatron pondered, coupled with his overbearing ego that made for a less than successful negotiator. He didn’t quite minded it – it gave him a lot more races and worlds to conquer, thereby making the military flourishing and active, the economy growing all the time with the steady influx of goods, and in general a happy populace, eager to hear the new conquests and war stories. Megatron also didn’t mind being away from Cybertron a lot personally either. Sentinel was the best in small measures, something like once a vorn or the like. The military commander in him didn’t quite enjoy the dominance of the Prime, even as he had always acknowledged his position in society. In the berth… well, that was another matter. Sentinel never mentioned whom Megatron might have taken to berth during campaigns or as a mentor, but when he returned to Cybertron, his Prime was always making sure to reclaim him thoroughly, frame and spark. 

Sentinel also didn’t like to leave their homeworld. He never advertised his utter revulsion, bordering on paranoid fear of organic races – though many in the court knew or at least suspected it – but he couldn’t hide it from Megatron in their bond, shallow as it was. And the universe was teeming with organics, while their kind, metallic beings were rare. He could never explain the source of that fear, nor could he overcome it, no matter how much Megatron tried to tell him how utterly harmless they were, how small and insignificant most organic races looked. 

“Look at them, for example.” Megatron showed his datapad to Sentinel with a truly tiny, blu-green triped on it. “They are the newest we’ve discovered. Their world is literally a huge oil-ocean with some islands on it where they live. There are less than a billion of them on the huge planet, they are about as big as my servo, no weapons, no belligerence, barely any society structure - my warriors would basically loathe to slaughter them, they are all so peaceful and friendly and all that slag.”

Sentinel took the datapad with a grimace, like he was fearing them to contaminate him even through the picture, but at least he took it. Oil, after all, was a respectable sort of fluid that all mechanoids needed, liked, and acknowledged to be the best coming from organic sources. There were synthetic products too, of course, but even Sentinel, with all his revulsion of any organic substances, used the best organic oils and ignored their origin, like many Cybertronians did. 

“They are… tiny.” He acknowledged with barely a scowl. The organic on the picture was grinning widely with its denta-less mouthparts, uncovered flesh shining with the oil Shockwave just pronounced the best quality he has ever tested in his lab. “I suppose… for an organic… they are… acceptable.” Between the triplicate limbs, the organic’s flesh was smooth and shiny like liquid metal and that went a long way to make it bearable in the Prime’s optics. “I suppose you want me to negotiate with them.”

“It would be the best.” Megatron nodded. “They have an elaborate belief system, which I won’t bore you with, but basically they are only willing to make contracts with the highest ranking mech on our side. And while we could take the planet easily, it would be no contest, no glory, just slaughter and destruction. Their planet is valuable but explosive. One energy beam, one torch and their oil ocean would burn for megavorns, rendering it all inexploitable. By offering them protection we could integrate them to the Cybertronian Empire as a subordinate race and enjoy their oil exports for eons to come.”

“I see.”

Sentinel scowled and sighed. He put down the datapad and lifted a crystalline cube from the table with the oil in question shimmering lusciously inside. It was truly an exquisite one in every respect. Besides its measurable qualities that Shockwave was enthusiastically expounding on, it had a delectable smell and taste too, making it irresistible for all who tried. Sentinel was no exception either. But was it good enough for him to overcome his revulsion of organics, Megatron pondered as he watched his Prime debate inwardly. 

“It can’t be done by distance comms, I take it?”

“They have no technical civilization.” Megatron shook his helm.

Sentinel rolled his optics. “Slagging barbarians too…”

“Well. They consider us Gods.”

Sentinel lifted a brow plate but Megatron didn’t miss the self-satisfied flare of his field. His Prime so loved to be called that and it cost him nothing. The tiny organics did consider the huge metallic beings visiting them godlike.

“I suppose… I can suffer a few of them here…”

Megatron interrupted him with an apologetic flicker in his own field.

“Must go there. They can’t be moved from their planet. Some sort of a symbiotic relationship, I’m told. The ones we removed to our ships started deactivating within orns.”

“I must go to their planet???” Sentinel looked alarmed and Megatron hurried to catch his Prime’s failing interest before he said something final that he would never back off of.

“There are uninhabited islands. Just consider. Crystalline beaches with an oil ocean.” He pointed to the cube Sentinel was still holding appreciatively and possessively. “An ocean of that. A perfect holiday with a short negotiation.” He paused a klik for effect. “And with me, of course. I wouldn’t let my Prime alone among aliens.”

He played it well. Sentinel’s alarm melted away with the whiffed smell of an oil-ocean and the promise of having his Lord Protector alone on that pristine, crystalline beach. 

“Well… I guess I could take a short holiday there…”

They were gone from Cyberton in a decaorn and arrived to the rainbow-hued planet in another, with the largest warship the fleet owned – not for the organics, they could never actually see it on orbit, but Sentinel has always demanded the best, largest, fastest… in everything – and their shuttle landed, just as Megatron promised him, on a deserted crystalline beach with an open vista of the oil-ocean that made even Sentinel loose his words. The hastily built palace barely off the beach was just a bismuth berry on an oil-cake and the guards made themselves scarce when the Prime started to feel up Megatron, standing shin deep in the luxurious oil. The Prime was not a nature lover by any measure, but the oil ocean was really just like an immense bath, warm, shiny with rainbow hues, smelling deliciously and lapping their plating sinfully… 

Sentinel was a very sated, satisfied and happy Prime the next orn and Megatron proceeded to keep it that way until the scheduled negotiations. 

Even then, things were going smoothly. Sentinel sat bedecked with trinkets and finery on a throne and the tiny organics babbled and simpered in their primitive language on a platform that raised them off the beach sand and kept them there, a safe distance from the Prime. The translator didn’t even need to spice up their flowery phrases and Megatron, while hating every klik of the charade could feel how much it stroked Sentinel’s ego and made him magnanimous. The agreement of course was drafted by actual negotiators and Sentinel didn’t deviate from it – it was as much to their favour as possible and the aliens were still happy for it. 

After the meeting he showed again to Sentinel on that crystalline beach that organic planets were not so bad, after all and reluctantly he agreed – he couldn’t not to, not when fragging his Lord Protector into exhaustion in a warm, scented oil ocean – and they returned to Cybertron with a new planet for the empire and a happily purring Prime, sipping the exotic oil.

“Maybe we still should exterminate them and claim their planet as my holiday-place.”

Sometimes, when hearing from him utterances like this, Megatron wasn’t sure what made Sentinel a Prime. He certainly wasn’t any sort of emphatic or wise like most Primes in the history. Sometimes he was well up to par with the Lord Protectors in his love of violence. But then, he wasn’t Primus, so Megatron just lifted a brow and hid his misgivings. 

“After a treaty?” He asked back, trying to appeal to Sentinel’s sense of honour, also not a very noticeable attitude. “We could do it, naturally, but how would it look for the public?”

That was one thing that always made Sentinel at least pause. Public opinion. He perhaps knew deep down that he wasn’t the best of Primes, so he has always tried to appear as wise and benevolent to the populace. 

“Well, maybe not.”

But in the next orns, Sentinel brought up the matter again and again and Megatron grew a bit worried. The Prime wasn’t usually this insistent, this much fixated on an issue and it was harder and harder to defuse his will. He was also beginning to feel… odd. 

At first nomech was surprised that Sentinel demanded that oil in excessive amounts and ordered the Palace cooks to incorporate it to any dish they could. It was natural. The oil was delicious, it was novel and every mech who could get hold of it loved it. Exports grew, slowly at first, making it a luxury item – and Sentinel loved luxurious commodities. He drank the oil, ate it, bathed in it… until one orn the guards called Megatron alarmed that the Prime was trashing his bath in a fit of fury and the servants didn’t dare to approach him. Megatron was there in a breem and saw the last of the carnage – Sentinel literally smashed his bath chamber into tiny pieces and was standing in the middle of the carnage venting heavily, still holding a piece of a decorated shelf in his servo.

“What happened?”

Sentinel stared back at him, but there was no answer, no explanations in the faded blue of his optics, just exhaustion and spent anger.

“I…”

He lifted the piece of metal up, looking at it, but instead of answers, it was just the scented oil dripping from it and Sentinel suddenly threw it away like it burned his servo. The smell of the oil was stifling the place suddenly and Sentinel looked queasy. Megatron approached his Prime varily while the guards and servants peeked in around the doorframes cautiously. 

“It was… suddenly it smelled bad… the oil!”

Sentinel was slowly returning to his normal self, badly shaken, but hiding it better now.

“Check it! It must be… bad somehow!”

“Come.” Megatron led Sentinel to a different bath chamber and silently commed the Palace staff to check the oil shipment for any contaminants. Sentinel uncharacteristically allowed himself to be prodded into a solvent shower without protests and numbly let Megatron wash his frame thoroughly from the oil. 

“need you…”

Megatron looked at him in near shock. Sentinel never admitted weakness, about needing him before. 

“I’m here.”

He let the other cling close even as he wondered about it. Their relationship was mostly for the public and never involved any real or deep emotions from either of their parts. Well, aside from an occasional bout of jealousy from the Prime, but that was as fickle as his other moods. Megatron never promised him anything more than the proper respect for the Prime and kept his occasional berthpartners in the quiet. Sentinel was a lot less prudent in his own dalliances. But any deeper than that… they just didn’t go.

“It was just something in the oil. They will check the whole shipment.”

“organic…” Sentinel mumbled into his neck so low, Megatron barely heard it as he stroked the strong backplates. But he felt the tiny tremble that ran through his consort’s frame.

“Nonsense. Half of the oil we use is organic.” Even that was generous, Megatron knew. Sentinel almost exclusively used the best oils – which were all organic.

“we shouldn’t…”

Megatron shook his helm. He still couldn’t understand Sentinel’s revulsion, not even after so many vorns. It was as illogical as it was irrational – but neither deterred the Prime from it.

It took him most of the dark orn to calm Sentinel down. The analysis and meticulous checking showed no special contaminants in the oil, only the known organic content that was always there. Still the whole shipment was sold on the market and a new, fresh one brought in that was checked before it got near the Palace by Shockwave himself, whom Sentinel trusted in such matters. 

The next fit came a decaorn after the new oil was used to fill the Prime’s bath. The next one closer than that and by that time not just Megatron, but even the servants and guards got worried and suspicious. Megatron nearly had to force Sentinel to have himself checked by medics – the Prime rated medical attention just under organics and put the visit off as long as he could. 

The result of that checkup stunned everyone who had access to it.

“Lord Megatron. We must talk.”

The head of the Palace’s medical staff stood stiffly in the Lord Protector’s presence. 

“Yes?”

“It is about… the Lord Prime.”

Megatron frowned and got a bad feeling. Medics weren’t this serious unless…

“What is it?”

“It is… the best we can term it, an organic infestation.”

“What?” Mechs just didn’t get organic bacteria or viruses, everyone knew it! Megatron stood suddenly, towering over the medic, whose field flared with fear but he stood his ground.

“It’s… different, My Lord. The bacteria lives in the oil we export and it… it… eats metal.”

Megatron blanched. His glance snapped to the table with the innocently shimmering oil in an expensive cube. His insides quaked and he felt nauseous suddenly.

“Eats metal…” and Sentinel was bathing in it, drinking it, eating it… to the excess nomech else did. “But it never showed…?”

“The bacteria is light-sensitive. It prefers the insides of mecha. I urgently recommend a checkup of every mech in the palace and who came to contact with the shipments. Maybe a Cybertron-wide screening even.”

“What about Sentinel?”

The medic swallowed nervously.

“WHAT ABOUT THE PRIME?”

“Lord Megatron… I’m afraid… I called in specialist and… the consultation has an unanimous opinion that… The Lord Prime is too far along in the process to..”

“WHAT?!?”

“We can’t help him.” The medic looked absolutely petrified now, but trudged on fatalistically. “The bacteria basically consumed him inside out. It deactivates sensors so the mech doesn’t feel anything until it’s too late. The fits were the result of it attacking his processor.”

Megatron whirled away in shock. No, he had no deep feelings for Sentinel, but… that vulnerable moment came to his processor in that shower, when the Prime instinctly felt what was wrong with himself and allowed him to see his weakness, his fear… and now that he opened up the bond he felt much the same. The medics must have hid his full condition from him yet, because it wasn’t panic, it was just deep, unformed fear and revulsion. Megatron stuffed his own fear to the back of his processor and collected his wits. It was a crisis and he had to solve it – alone now if Sentinel was going to…

“Check every mech, first those who had the longest contact with the oil then proceed to the whole populace. Quarantine that planet. Start treatments at once. You are now coordinating this process, congratulations for advancement. I want to see the Prime.”

It wasn’t nice and it quickly turned ugly. Sentinel suspected much of what he wasn’t told and his fear guessed the rest. He demanded the planet to be obliterated in revenge and Megatron half agreed with him – as it was now, the organic bacteria was a threat to every mechanoid. Fortunately it was easy to treat while in the earliest stages – any acid destroyed it, from the weakest to the strongest. But to rebuild a mech’s innards it had eaten up… that was another matter entirely. Changing a cog or a tank, even a motherboard or relays - that was possible. But the entire innards of a mech? Not the most extensive life support could save someone with a breached spark chamber. As for Sentinel… the Matrix was untouched and medics have removed it in an effort to save his spark, but it was too late for that too as his system failed catastrophically . The Prime didn’t die easily even then. His weakening grip and the bubbling words from a ruined vocalizer that nomech understood any more echoed in Megatron’s processor for a long time afterwards. 

He, himself was lucky enough not particularly liking the oil – he got away with a tank change and some new intake tubing like most mechs. Also, like so many in the palace, he was bathing in a weak acidic solution compulsively for a good few decaorns afterwards. There weren’t many deactivations aside from Sentinel Prime – but that alone shocked the planet and made organics very unpopular for a long while. 

“We must find the new Prime.”

Megatron shuttered his optics. He slept very little these orns, as besides heading the military in uproar he had to steer the disease-fearing civilian Cybertron as well – and deal with his broken bond, which no matter how shallow it used to be, still pained him. But the High Priest of Primus was adamant and rightly so.

“I know. Prepare the process as soon as possible.”

Since neither Megatron, nor Sentinel was old, the priesthood were unprepared for the choosing of a new Prime. Usually it took several vorns to organize a complete census and then a screening process and then the introduction of the likely candidates to the Matrix until it choose one… and they didn’t have time for that. Interregnum was not an option, nor was his ruling alone for long.

“We suggest the faster method, the one used a long time ago, My Lord.”

“And what’s that?”

“To send the Matrix on a tour. Have each town’s populace assemble and carry the Matrix around until It finds Its new bearer. It’s been done in wartime, when the Prime deactivated suddenly.”

“Do it then.”

“My Lord… it must be you carrying the Matrix around.”

“Me? But I don’t have time for that. I must manage the crisis…”

It was a rare mech who dared to interrupt the Lord High Protector. The High Priest was one of them.

“My Lord, the most important crisis right now is to find the Prime. The disease can be managed by the medics. You must find the Prime and fast.”

Something clicked deep inside Megatron, something he kept ruthlessly repressed for vorns. Somemech his spark kept longing for, somemech he felt drawn to all those vorns ago. Now, it was impossible, he knew. He was Lord Protector, duty and tradition demanded him to bond with the Prime, the last one and the next. He couldn’t choose freely, he couldn’t choose whom he…

“If I must, then I’ll go. Organize the tour now. Start with the colonies and end it back in Iacon.” 

The High Priest nodded satisfied and retreated after a respectful bow. Megatron had a sudden idea, an urge… to find a mech in this short time while he was free, find him and have a little time together while he could… but then he ruthlessly sobered himself up. There was no way telling whether Orion even remembered him, much less with the same feelings. He might be happily bonded to somemech else – though that sent a wave of hot fury through his processor until Megatron got hold of his feelings again. No, it would be a bad idea on all counts.

The tour was long and boring and above all repetitive for him. For the populace in every town and colony world it was novel and an excitement and gave every mech a hope that they could be the next Prime. Megatron tried to hide his utter boredom as he carried the Matrix through one more city’s main square, shining its light to every direction and appearing interested in the result. The Priests around watched with sharp optics for any flicker in that light… but so far none came, even though they were back to Cybertron and halfway though its cities as well. 

“Stop!”

He nearly lifted his gun, the shout was so unexpected. 

“It flickered!”

“It hasn’t!”

“I saw nothing.”

“I didn’t either!”

“Nor did I.”

“No, none.”

Megatron gnashed his denta. The argument repeated itself for the dozenth time in as many places. He couldn’t see anything in the Matrix, but the Priests around him wanted to see something so badly, one of them inevitably imagined a flicker every now and then.

“Sunstorm, there wasn’t anything I could see.”

The Seeker’s golden wings flared indignantly, but the mech would never argue with him. The tour continued and Megatron kept himself awake by imagining how the various mecha around him would behave in his berth. Sunstorm would be interesting… whether he would spout holy quotes at him while being fragged or not…

By the time they got back to Iacon, Megatron was ready to resign. There weren’t any assurances that they would find a new Prime. He could have been just sparked, for all the Priest told him about the process. There was already talk of the next tour in a few vorns’ time if Iacon proved as futile as the rest of the Empire. Those, he resolutely ignored.

He stood straight on a platform ponderously slowly floating up on one of Iacon’s thoroughfares, holding the Matrix in his servos, lifting it so its light would be visible if it came. The city was simply too big for every inhabitant to gather in one place, so they had to make a longer route. The slowness of the floater was making Megatron groan inside – at this speed it would take all day to arrive back to the Palace… the Merchant quarter swam slowly into his tired vision, the colourful chaos of its myriad shops, stores, warehouses, supermarkets and advertisements… a gaudy, busy and lively place at all times, where absolutely nomech expected to find the new Prime. No Prime in living history had been a merchant before or had such background. Still, they had to go through it too.

“I saw it flickering!”

“It hasn’t!”

“No, I saw it too!”

“I didn’t!”

“Nor did I.”

“ENOUGH! Megatron bellowed at the bickering Priests. This time he saw it clearly – the Matrix’s everpresent, steady light focused for a nanoklick and flashed out in a beam. It was weak, barely there – but he saw it. He jumped off the floater, holding out the holy relic into the direction it flickered towards before. There it was again. A flickering beam of light that had everymech around him fall silent and look at each other and its direction. Megatron didn’t care about them. Followed what the Matrix – and his own spark curiously – told him. Mecha parted ahead of him and the flickering light strengthened, led him on. In his wake the Priests swarmed, hurrying after him and some praying, some giving out blessings to the crowd, some just as eager to see the spectacle as the common mecha around them.

He didn’t quite look up at where the Matrix was leading him. Mecha parted ahead of him silently as the Matrix shone now unwaveringly among them, but not following any who stood aside. Megatron strode straight forward until one mech didn’t move from the light. The Matrix flared exultantly and Megatron looked up. The light was now strong enough to wash out the colours of the mech as he stood transfixed, mouth parted, his full shopping bags hanging from his servo, every bit as unprimely as one could imagine it. Megatron smirked and reached out towards him with the Matrix. The mech took a small step forward and dropped his shopping bags. 

“Here’s a Prime!” “A Prime!” the murmurs around them rose in volume as they came closer. The light of the Matrix was now a miniature sun between them and Megatron held out the artifact for the mech to take. He could hardly see anything, but then suddenly the mech’s optics – blue, he noted absentmindedly, wide and pale with shock – snapped from the Matrix to him and he uttered something fairly surprising from a newly chosen Prime…

“Megatron!”

Megatron focused and dialed down his optics to see through the light. That voice… that voice was familiar. He dared not to hope, but it was familiar. It was impossible to have such an accident such improbable coincidence from Primus twice over… but a blue helm took shape through the glare of light, long, sensitive audials he remembered so well and…

“Orion?”

“Yes!”

Megatron tried to reach out, tried to grasp Orion’s outflung servo, but the Matrix took matters into its own figurative hand. The light enveloped them both and he more felt than saw Orion growing, his slim figure filling out, the shape changing ever so slightly, different but still familiar… until the wide-blue optics were level to his own and their sparks connected, fused, bonded in a way it never did with Sentinel, and for a glorious breem they were one, their thoughts mixed and he never again had to wonder what Orion felt for him and what he felt for the no-longer-archivist, no-longer smaller mech either. Megatron’s vents hitched and he held onto Orion tightly, close as the Matrix disappeared behind red-blue plating and colours suddenly returned and the world popped into existence around them again with the still-hushed whispers slowly giving way to adulation and cheers.

“All hail Optimus Prime!”

Megatron didn’t care. Let them celebrate, let them call and shout whatever designation. For him it was and would always be Orion. 

“I dreamed of you for so long…” Orion-Optimus whispered much later when all the ruckus had died down, all the formalities were done and over with and they were left alone in the Prime’s opulent chambers when Sentinel’s gaudy touch hovered over every piece of furniture, every wall decoration, his dead spark watching over them disapprovingly… but Orion only had optics for Megatron.

“Me too… but I couldn’t seek you out.”

“I know.”

Their helms were level now, Megatron noted, and it made kissing him much easier, more natural that at that never forgotten, but suppressed occasion. Orion was still the younger, but not that barely adult, innocent youngling any more – vorns had gone by since they first and last met… but it was natural to lift him up still, even as his struts complained at the effort and Orion laughed and held onto his shoulders like back then and Megatron’s spark did little flip-flops at the sound while he carried his Prime into the berthchamber.

“I never forgot this…”

“Nor have I.”

They kissed again, glossas playing and fangs pricking soft dermal metal, and it derailed Megatron’s thoughts, not that he minded it. His servos stroked over old forms and new shapes, rediscovering Orion’s remade frame. It was like his old one mostly, just larger and a lot sturdier than the archivist’s barely more than youngling frame – but it was as familiar to his questing digits as the little moans that Orion spiced his kisses with… Megatron reluctantly broke the kiss to put him down on the berth and Orion playfully tackled him down with him, straddling his warrior frame with his still more slender one. Megatron, for a eerie nanoklik felt Sentinel’s weight over him, the Prime’s dominating nature forcing him to submit… but Orion was different. This Prime didn’t demand him to surrender. Orion noticed little of his internal struggle as he leaned over him and continued their kiss.

His touches were surer than all those vorns ago, sliding on his plating with more confidence than back then, stoking his charge and all for being on top his field never became as heavy and demanding as Sentinel’s. He was playful and so openly happy that Megatron forgot his misgivings, forgot his memories and drew Orion over him like he did long ago. Even if his Prime wanted to spike him, it would still be different, he was sure.

But Orion was nothing like that. 

“I want you.” He whispered when he broke their kiss and ground his pelvic pates down on Megatron’s rapidly heating panel. “Want you inside me again. I’ve waited this for so long…”

“You shall not wait any longer…”

Megatron released his panel and his aching spike sprang free, smearing prefluid onto Orion’s pelvis, his own panel open already and almost dripping lubricants. They just couldn’t take it any slower now, unlike their first time – Orion was impatient, grounding down on him already and Megatron just couldn’t find the self-controll in him to slow him down. There was no size difference now, no need to be careful with an overeager youngling, they were both adults and comparable and Orion waited no longer to drop onto him and envelop his spike with his hot, sweet valve…

“Orion…!”

“Ahhhh….”

It was just too slagging good and Megatron gave up trying to hold back. Orion’s groan was that of pleasure not of pain, so he bucked up into the welcoming heat and joined him in moaning deep and long…

“Yesss…!”

When he started to move it was simply divine. Megatron held onto red-blue plating as Orion rode him, faster and faster and he was content to do nothing just enjoy the pit out of his Prime, his Orion, that they were finally, after everything, finally together as they wished…

And when he shouted his release and Orion joined him with his clear, light voice joining him in climax and he slumped down on him into an embrace of frames and sparks… then, Megatron finally dared to feel satisfied and it was like a weight he wasn’t even aware of was finally lifted from him and suddenly he realized with a clarity he rarely felt before that they had forever together or at least as long as he dared to think of.

It was like the cosmic order got put to rights, or some holy slag Sunstorm liked to spout.


End file.
